


Kéntauros

by cartographicalspine



Series: The Meek [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Introspection, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-12 10:16:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartographicalspine/pseuds/cartographicalspine
Summary: The Inquisitor near the end, stealing moments for herself on the brink of destruction. Post-campaign, pre-Trespasser.





	Kéntauros

She ran through the woods, a swift-footed phantom moving through shadow and gloom until she broke free, shaking off darkness and weight alike into the open air. And suddenly the world was open before her, a vast, stunning valley she could truly fly across. Spurred by the sight of open sky, she raced over wildgrass and tiny, babbling brooks with expert footwork, laughing when the wind whipped her hair loose from the coiffure her attendants had wrangled it into. There would be others to replace it, for ornate meetings seemed to have her schedule in an endless chokehold these days.

Shaking off the last of the glitter and shine, she spurred her horse into a wild gallop and her thoughts went free, wandering over valley and mountaintop unhindered by anything and everything. Here, there were no heavy titles or burdens or concerns, a hundred thousand concerns that spawned new ones every day. Here, she wasn’t Inquisitor, or my Lady, or even Marlise; she just  _was._

Once, when she was still young, she’d flown across a meadow much like this one, with little Erzi in her lap as she chased the wind and light like she was nothing but air itself. Her horse had attuned to her thoughts like magic, or maybe like something more innate. More natural. Whatever she imagined, whatever she wanted, it recreated in reality, kicking, leaping, dancing steps and jumps that drew peals of laughter from its riders. And when she wanted the smoothest, most flawless run possible? Well, then they  _soared._

_Erzi, dear heart, you can let go now. We’ve stopped._

_….I-I-I’m t-t-trying._

She was never denied a horse after that, no matter how unruly and temperamental. All of them were hers when the wind called, and she, theirs.

Her soldier’s days held a lot of monotony in between battles, but when she rode, it was like she had transformed into something beyond human, beyond rider and horse. Some kind of mythical creature in between, shifting into wind and sun above the valley.

Free, free, free.

She had settled into a trot now, gliding gently, downward back to earth and salt. When she came back down, it was Thom she imagined beside her, keeping a steady pace next to her on his own horse. If she reached out she might just touch him, perhaps his strong hands in hers or a brief, featherlight brush of her calloused thumb across his lips. Something playful to carry them both back.

Back. Of course.

She gathered the reins and turned towards the mountains again, back into the dark woods gathering shadow and dusk. Her hair was a bird’s nest, as Nuna would tell her when she revealed herself, but that was the risk of long hair and complicated updos. For now, she meandered her wandering course upward, knowing that her scouts kept watch in the trees overhead. Some would balk at handpicking an elf to lead her personal spies, but that was why she handpicked her. She was certain Leliana, though she never brought it up, had harbored some suspicions regarding her secret actions, but the advisory council was the Inquisition’s, and they did what was best for the Inquisition.

 _She_  had to do what was best for Marlise, after the Inquisition was done with her, so her shadow council waited among the trees and the wilds, her diplomats and spies and guards where the world would never see them.

Nuna dropped from her perch, materializing noiselessly beside her like a flickering candle sputtering to life. She raised a pretty, dark eyebrow at the state of Marlise's hair and shook her head.

“I know,” Marlise grinned, taking the cloak offered to her and hiding the offending sight from view. “My ladies will have a fit once they’ve bustled me back to my chambers.”

“I was going to say that it really suits you,” she shrugged, ignoring Marlise’s mock-indignant gasping and sputtering. “Besides, the rumors from Val Royeaux say that live birds are coming back as accessories this season.”

“Maker forbid.”

Though they were still a ways from Skyhold’s patrols, Nuna took the reins from her and led the horse as Lavellan, just another stablehand, gait unassuming and mild for the Inquisition spy reports. Their chatter turned scripted turned silence once they neared the city limits, and then Marlise was looking out at the sprawl of grand, flourishing Skyhold, an expanse of glittering lights and streets and buildings that she still found impossible to believe sometimes.  _Would that Solas could see it._

They entered across an invisible border, wards caressing them gently in greeting  _(hello hello hello Marlise hello Nuna hello),_  Skyhold’s silent and watchful guardian through night and day. No walls, never any more cages for its denizens, but the wards were a safeguard against those with ill intentions, a promise of protection for all who found refuge in the city. A herald of safety and comfort and light, all from his own magic.

She closed her eyes and wondered how such a breathtaking sight and such a dear, heartfelt promise could inspire such a seed of dread in her heart. Already the worries were returning, one by one, back to roost in her head.  _He will not listen, he will not see reason, he will not rest while there are still those who gather and flock on the daily to this beacon, this bright, bright, so bright the beacon, and she’s so terribly frightened for him._

And with everyone gone, she had only Nuna and her private counsel, her second Inner Circle, and perhaps that would be enough to save her in the end. But Dorian had flown the nest, too….not that she could begrudge him his own battles and ideals (always so idealistic, the pair), and she herself had only so many hours of the day. Hours devoted to Skyhold and their people and the grand nations roiling tumultuous around them. (Exalted Council: ready outfits! makeup! schedules! Speeches!  _Countdown.)_

Who did Erzi turn to when she was no longer available as she used to be?

Nuna had noticed the green, sickly tension on her face and, keeping her small, modest facade up, she began to hum a faint little marching song. A soldier’s song, familiar as the reins she’d held on her outing. Marlise breathed, and imagined the freedom of the wind in her hair as she galloped unfettered over mountain and valley.

_Free, free, free._


End file.
